Ambition

To wage war, even in word, against ambition is something very like an act of rebellion against those who sit in high places and of whose life such ambition is the very soul. It may even seem that to decry the gifts of fortune, of which princes are the dispensers, is to belittle the majesty of those princes. Yet we may remember that all godly sovereigns fervently desire to efface themselves and their own personal glory in the presence of the glory of God, and, far from resenting or regarding as an act of disloyalty the piety which puts their own temporal power on this lower plane, they know well that they are never more profoundly reverenced than when their power ranks second only to that of the Eternal God. JBearing this in mind, we may boldly and unhesitatingly assert that not even the most august and powerful Court the world has ever known can do anything for a Christian which is really worthy of his esteem; and we may try at the same time to open the eyes of men to the true nature of what they call fortune, to which they cling with such passionate tenacity.

• Sermon preached before Louis XIV. and his Court. 234

To effect this is it not enough to bid you for one moment recall the circumstances of the earthly life of the Son of God? When, as we are told, the world had gone after Him; when the acclamations of the populace promised Him nothing less than a throne, He so despised this vain and empty triumph as to make Himself, of His own will, mean and contemptible in their eyes, a Man of Sorrows, poorly clothed, without a roof to shelter His Divine head. And as if this were not enough, in order to teach us by His own example the vanity and inconstancy of human applause and fortune’s favours, in the short interval of three days it was His will that public hatred should actually nail to the Cross Him Whom public acclamation had declared to be worthy of a throne. Does not this bring home to us the lesson that fortune is absolutely nothing; that no matter whether she robs us of our treasures or showers her favours upon us, whether she is fickle or constant, whether she smiles or frowns upon us, always and at all times and in all places she is contemptible, wholly unworthy of our consideration or regard? *

Let me in the first place show you how fortune tricks us even when she is most liberal in bestowing her favours, or at least appears to be so. I might indeed unmask her deceitfulness by proving to you, as I easily could do, that she never holds to what she has promised; but I shall do this more thoroughly and more forcibly by showing you that she does not even really give what she pretends to give. Her

** Fortune, that empress of the world, is so much in league and amity with folly, that to wise men she is always stingy, and sparing of her gifts, but is profusely liberal and lavish to fools.”— ERASMUS.

most precious and costly gift, the one too which she is the most chary of bestowing, is that which she calls power. This is what the ambitious crave most intensely, value most highly, and guard most jealously, however small may be the portion which she doles out to them. Let us, then, see if she does really and truly give it to us, or if it is anything more than a phantom splendour with which she dazzles our poor earthly vision, all bleared and feeble as it is. To do this, we must first ascertain what power we can have, and what power it is that we need to have during our life in this world. But, as the minds of men are very apt to go astray when searching into this matter, let us try to bring them back into the right way by the teaching of St. Augustine.

That great Doctor lays down as a principle a most important truth, namely, that happiness consists in being able to do what we will, and in willing to do what we ought to do. This second ingredient of happiness is also necessary; for as, if you cannot do what you will, your will is not satisfied, so too if you do not will to do what you ought to do, your will ‘is ill-regulated and disordered. In either case there cannot be happiness, because if the will which is unsatisfied is poor, too the will which is undisciplined and ill-regulated is sick; and this sickness excludes happiness. It is therefore quite as necessary to will what we ought to will as to be able to accomplish what we wish to accomplish.

Let us add, if you will, that it is unquestionably more important to will what one ought to will. When you cannot do what you will, it is because you have been prevented from so doing by some outside cause; but when you do not will what you ought to will, the fault always springs from your own innate depravity. Thus you see that in the first case it is simply a misfortune, while in the second it is always a fault; and the very fact of its being a fault obviously makes it to be the greater misfortune of the two. Thus it is undeniably true that for the attainment of true happiness it is more necessary to have a well-regulated will than a far-reaching power.*

And that is why I can never sufficiently marvel at the ill-regulated state of our affections and the unsoundness of our judgment. We abandon rule, says St. Augustine, and sigh for power. Blind and foolish mortals, what are we thinking of? what are we attempting to do? Happiness comes of two constituents, and we in our folly believe that we can possess it whole and entire, while all the time we are violently wrenching away one of its two essentials. More than this, we actually cast away the more essential part; and the one which we choose, being separated from its companion, far from making us happy, only increases the weight of our misery. For, of what use is power to an ill-regulated, disordered will, except to make it more miserable by enabling it to do the evil which the mere desire to do had caused so much wretchedness? Have we not said, do we not know, that the prosperity of sinners is in truth a scourge sent to them by God, since by the permitting of the fulfilment of sinful desires poison is infused into a wound already mortal, and a fresh impetus is given to the slowly consuming disease which has already begun to gnaw our vitals? The Son of God Himself

• Cf. Montesquieu, The Spirit of Laws, bk. vi., chap. iii.: “ In

Governments, liberty can consist only in the power to do what we ought to will, and in not being constrained to do what we ought not to will.’

acknowledged that Pilate had received from on high power over His Divine person. Had the will of that Roman Governor been properly regulated, he would joyfully have made use of his power, if not to punish injustice and calumny, at least to protect and deliver innocence. But because his will had been corrupted by a cowardice doubly shameful in a man of his high rank and authority, this power was only turned by him into a weapon to accomplish the awful crime of Deicide, against which his own conscience was rising up in rebellion. This is the last, the most terrible form of moral blindness, which leads us, before our will is rightly regulated, to desire a power which will after all turn against us in the end, and which will be fatal to our happiness because it will be fatal to — our virtue.

Our God, in His infinite wisdom, gives us a very different guiding principle; He would lead us by. straight and level paths, not by those which wind along the brink of precipices and chasms. This is why He teaches His servants not to desire to be able to do much, but to practise themselves in desiring all that is most excellent; to regulate their desires before thinking of satisfying them; to begin the enjoyment of true happiness here below by means of a perfectly disciplined will, before they attain to its full consummation in the life to come by means of that absolute power which shall then be theirs.*

Let us, however, make a more special and indi-

• • All virtue and goodness tend to make men powerful in this | world; but they who aim at the power have not the virtue. Virtue is its own reward, and brings with it the truest and highest pleasures; but they who cultivate it for the pleasure-sake are selfish, not religious, and will never gain the pleasure, because they never can haye the virtue.”,—Carp. NEWMAN.

vidual application of St. Augustine’s teaching. What is it, children of earth, that you ask? That God should give you much power? If so, I must answer you in the words of our Divine Lord: You know not what you ask (Matt. xx. 22). Consider seriously what and where you are; consider the weight of mortality which encumbers and oppresses you, the frail and fleeting fashion of this world which passes away (1 Cor. vii. 81). In the midst of so much weakness and instability, where do you look to find any-think like a support or even a foundation for this grand idea of power? Assuredly such a high-sounding name ought to have some force behind it, something to make it more than a mere empty name, something to give it substance and security. Yet what is there on earth that can accomplish this? Open the eyes of your mind, of your soul; penetrate below the mere surface of things. The greatest power in the world cannot go beyond the taking away of man’s life. I say, the taking it away; but, after all, as that life is always consuming itself, wasting away, nearing its end from the moment of its beginning, is it such a great matter, such an immense exercise of power, to extinguish by violence the already more or less flickering and waning spark of mortal existence? Ah! never for a moment believe that where mortality holds its sway power can be found. That cannot be, and therefore (says St. Augustine) an infinitely wise Providence has decreed that while men sojourn in this world of time and sense they should practise justice, and that in the undying life of the world to come power should be given to them. What more could we ask? If here below we desire what we ought to desire in this present state of existence, we shall be able to do all that we desire in a future state. Let us regulate and order our will by the love of justice. God will then assuredly crown our efforts in His own good time by the communication of His power. If we give the poor fleeting moments of time to the right ordering of our thoughts and words and deeds, He will give us all eternity to satisfy our desires.

I think that you must see now what sort of power we ought to desire while this present life lasts: power to regulate our conduct, to moderate and control our passions, to model our whole being according to the Divine pattern set before us. Power over ourselves, power against ourselves; or rather, says St Augustine, power for ourselves against ourselves. O power so little coveted! and yet the only power which is true and real! For our power is resisted and opposed in two different ways: either by impediments being put in the way of our carrying out our designs, or by our being disturbed and hindered in our right to make up our minds and form legitimate resolutions. In this latter sort of opposition even the authority of a Divine command is defied; and this is real bondage. The Sacred Scriptures give us an example of both these attacks brought to bear upon human power in the same household.

Joseph was a slave in the house of Potiphar, and the wife of that Governor of Egypt was the mistress of that house. Joseph, being weighted and constrained by the yoke of servitude, was not the master of his own actions; and the woman, the slave of her passion, was not even the mistress of her own will. See to what lengths a degrading, lawless love carried her! It may indeed be that in her secret heart a sense of

\G her own vileness stirred some emotion of shame, but her unbridled passions made her their slave, ruled her, dominated her, urged her on to evil, compelled her to follow their criminal counsels. Do we not see in this woman an instance of power more absolutely fettered than in the captive Joseph, who was a servant in that proud and imperious household?

Innumerable tyrants of this sort hold us captive, and yet we make no complaint. If we are thrown into prison; if our hands and feet are fettered, we fill the air with our lamentations; but we endure without a groan the pressure of those cruel chains which are wound so tightly round about our hearts. We are only too ready to cry out when the ministers of our will and pleasure, the members which we employ to carry out our plans and our desires, are put in irons; but when the will itself, when reason and intelligence which rule and command those ministers and members, are enslaved and fettered, we are dumb and do not utter a single murmur. Wake up, poor slave; wake up, and at last acknowledge this truth, that if it is a great power to be able to carry out our designs and desires, it is a greater, nay, it is the only really great one, to dominate and reign over our wills.

Whoever has tasted the sweetness of this empire will indeed care little for the credit and the power that fortune can give. And for this reason. There is no greater obstacle in the way of self-command than a position of authority over others. In fact there is within us a certain malignant humour which has generated in our hearts the germs of all vices. They lurk in secret corners, coiled up in a thousand serpent-like folds, and only from time to time rearing a venomous head. The best and surest way of repressing them is to deprive men of power. St Augustine knew well that in order to heal and cure a diseased and sin-sick will it must be weakened, nay, paralysed. What? you ask; are vices any the less vices because they are hidden and secret ones? It is the unseen germ of corruption which propagates decay and death. How then can the diseased will be cured by leaving the poison deep down in the heart? I will tell you. We grow weary of always desiring the impossible, of forming schemes which are continually frustrated, of never getting beyond the malice, that is, the evil intention, of crime. Finding ourselves so powerless to carry out the sinful designs which we had planned, we begin to recover ourselves, to see things a little more clearly as they really are. Conscious of weakness, we think it may be more prudent to moderate our desires. At first indeed we are, in a measure, driven by necessity to do this, but in the end we apply ourselves in all good faith and with a serious intent to the work in hand, blessing the lack of power which we find to be the first successful remedy for healing our disease and bringing about our cure.

On the other hand, how certain it is that the more independent we become the more headstrong and indomitable do our passions grow. We are like children who need a severe master and must be ruled by fear and stern discipline. If these restraints are removed, our corrupt inclinations begin to stir within us and, starting up into full life and action, to force down our liberty under the yoke of their intolerant licence. Do we not see examples of this every day of our lives? And does not this teaching sufficiently con-

VO er:

vince you of the deceitfulness of fortune, since, far from giving us power, she does not even leave us our liberty?

Well might our Divine Lord bid us fear the high places, the posts of distinction and authority of earth; He, in His infinite wisdom, knew well that power is the most frequent instrument in the undoing of men, that in exercising it over others they often lose it over themselves, and that it is like a heady wine which takes effect even upon the most sober and temperate. That man will be master of his will who knows how to moderate his ambition, who considers himself sufficiently powerful if he can but regulate his desires and so rate the things of this world at their proper value as never for a moment to measure his happiness by the elevation of his fortune.

Ambitious men, however, bring their own arguments on this subject to bear against those which I have been putting before you. They maintain that it is absolutely necessary for them to distinguish themselves; that it is a mark of weakness to be content with mediocrity; that great geniuses always separate themselves from the common herd and, so to speak, force the hand of destiny.* The example, they say, of those who are continually aiming at progress seems to reproach others for their lack of ambition; and doubtless it is this desire of men to distinguish themselves which gives the most tremendous impetus to earthly ambition. Well, I might by several modes of reasoning combat these arguments in favour of self-exaltation and separation from

< Of all the follies of the world, the most received and the most universal is the desire for reputation and glory.”— MOonrTAIGNE.

R the ordinary mass of our fellow-men. I might remind you that this present life is a period of strange confusion, in which one thing jostles against another, and that there is no hard and fast line of demarcation now between man and man, but that there is an appointed time, a Day which will come at the end of the world, when the wicked shall be separated from the good, and that this great and eternal act of discrimination and separation is the only way to which Christian ambition with all its powers of soul and body should aspire. I might add that it is vain and idle for us to try and distinguish ourselves in this world, over which death has such power that we know sooner or later he will come and with a relentless hand drag us down from those high places which were our pride and boast, and thrust us into that place of darkness and nothingness where the mortal part of every man, be he prince or beggar, must be hidden away till the great Day of Judgment.* So certain, so unalterable, so evident to the senses is this common fate of all men, that even the most ignorant will smile at your empty boasting and at a display of magnificence and power so uncertain in its duration, so short-lived even at its best, and

*** Naught but the Divine endures; all else is smoke.”’— MANTEGNA.

** Can you not imagine, placarded on the walls in Paris, a composition of large design and brilliant colouring, in which is seen Death, elegant and thin, conducting the representatives of contemporary society to the tomb and to oblivion? Do you not easily recognise in this sinister procession Rothschild and his millions, Hiffel and his tower, a proletarian reading the journal which promises him to-morrow the end of his miseries, a deputy flourishing his cheque, an anarchist with his bomb under his jacket, and even an academician in a coat embroidered with green palms, armed with his harmless sword, and carying his complete works of several volumes under his arm? ’—F. Coppiir.

he will say to you, in the words of the Prophet: ‘‘ In your pride and self-exaltation you thought yourself set apart from the common herd, but you are wounded as well as we, you are become like us”? (Isa. xiv. 10).

Without, however, spending time upon such reasoning as this; without pausing any longer to remind you of such obvious truths, I would simply ask these ambitious men by what road they intend to reach those heights of self-glorification and distinction at which they are aiming.

The path of vice is shameful and degrading, the path of virtue is very long and perhaps tedious. Virtue, generally speaking, is not sufficiently pliable to commend itself to men, it never relaxes its rules, it moves with a slow and measured pace, making sure indeed but scarcely perceptible progress. Vice on the other hand, is active, eager, prompt, leaving no stone unturned to further its designs. After a time you grow weary of the dull routine, the slow movements of virtue, you relax in your efforts to accommodate your restless footsteps to its slow pace; then in your impatience you bend it and twist it till it fits in with the world’s ways, till it is only a travesty of virtue. Ah! how much wiser it would be to renounce ambition once and for ever. Possibly to do so might from time to time cause you some anxiety, but in the end you would always be the gainer, and perseverance in such a renunciation would be far easier if you began it before you had actually tasted the sweets of earth’s honours and dignities. Live your life then contented with it as it is, with yourself (as regards position and eminence) as you are. Above all things, never let the desire to do good make you crave for a condition more exalted and more prominent than your own. This is the most common lure of ambitious men. They are always full of pity for the public; they unduly set themselves up as reformers of abuses, stern censors of all who are in high places. And what splendid schemes they make for the Government; what wise counsels they prepare to give to the Ministers! What lofty sentiments they entertain for the Church; what pious regulations for the Diocese are hatched in these busy brains! But (ah, how great a but!) the love of the world takes possession of them, the spirit of the age almost insensibly dominates them; and then, when they have reached the goal, and when the power which they have so much coveted seems almost within their grasp, they have to wait for opportunities to carry out their plans, opportunities which are leaden-footed and lagging in their march, and which in fact never reach these schemers. Thus perish all their splendid designs, thus vanish like a dream all their lofty thoughts and imaginations.

That being so, do not let us desire so passionately greater power than we possess, but let us rather consider how we may give a good account of that which Almighty God has entrusted to us. A river, in order to be salutary and beneficial in the district which it traverses, has no need to overflow its banks or to innundate the neighbouring country; by flowing peacefully along over its pebbly bed, it does not fail to water the thirsty earth and do all that such a stream is expected to do for the public in its vicinity. So too it should be with us. Instead of trying to go beyond the limits of the power given to us, instead of seeking to overflow as it were in ambitious schemes and intentions, let us rather strive by kindness and benevolence to make what little power we possess more and more useful to others; and if our sphere of action is narrow and restricted let our charity be boundless, immense. This should be the ambition of a Christian, who smiles at fortune’s empty promises, and at the same time is absolutely prepared for her reverses, of which he has no dread.

As regards those reverses, I may begin by observing that fortune, deceitful in all else, is at least sincere in that she never conceals her treacheries from us. On the contrary, she flaunts them before our eyes, and from time to time even delights in astonishing the world by strokes as terrible as they are unexpected, as if to remind men of her strength, as well as of her inconstancy, her malignity, her baneful eccentricities. That is what often makes me think that the smiles of fortune are not really favours but deceits, that she only bestows them on us in order to get us more entirely into her clutches, and that the benefits which we receive from her hand are not so much gifts from her to us, as tokens or pledges which we ourselves give her, proclaiming ourselves thereby to be for evermore her captives, under the yoke of her harsh and malevolent power.*

This truth, established on the firm foundation of such a record of convincing experience, ought to undeceive all who are ambitious of this world’s honours and privileges; but, strange to say, it has precisely

• «A slave has but one master; the ambitious man has as many masters as there are persons whose aid may contribute to the advancement of his fortune.”’—La Bruyinre.

the contrary effect. For instead of their aiming at that solid, that enduring, that eternal good which the changes and chances of this mortal life cannot alter or touch; instead of their despising fickle fortune because they are convinced of this fickleness, their very conviction of her inconstancy makes them give themselves to her, body and soul, hoping that so they may find some sort of protection and defence against her wiles. If you doubt me, look for a moment at this clever, highly gifted politician whom fortune has raised to a position of great eminence. Looking down from his lofty elevation upon his fellow-men of smaller minds and meaner capacities, who boast of titles, outside show and gaudy glitter, he despises their littleness and treats their pretentious folly with contempt. In his own case, all he thinks and says is so different; his claims for distinction rest on such a solid basis; his wealth is immense and so secured that there is no possibility of any change in the splendid position of himself and his family. So at least he thinks in his blindness and ignorance; as though these very props which he imagines will be so firm and so resistant against the undermining powers of fortune were not after all dependent upon her, and as fragile as the edifice which he has been so carefully building up all these long years of his earthly lifetime.

But I have said enough in my own words on this subject. Listen to what God Himself says to you by the mouth of the Prophet Ezekiel concerning fortune: The Assyrian, he says, was like a cedar in Libanus, watered by the dew of heaven, nourished by the fatness of the soil. The Prophet means that the neighbouring powers loaded the Assyrian with ee their gifts, and that he on his part drained the resources of his people for his own enrichment and aggrandizement. The inspired writer continues: Therefore was his height exalted above all the trees of the country, and when he had spread forth his shadow, all the birds of the air made their nests in his branches. That is to say, all his people, high and lowly, great and small, those immediately attached to his household and those who were scattered widely through his dominions, took refuge under his protection and followed his fortunes. Neither cedar nor pine (that is, not one of the princes of his court) was like him in his beauty; no, nor any tree in the paradise of God.

Surely here we can see the picture of one whom fortune has raised to the highest possible pinnacle of greatness, such greatness as is very seldom attained in this world. But now look at the reverse of the picture. Listen to the Prophet’s words: Because he was exalted in pride, and lifted his head even to the clouds, and because his heart was lifted up, therefore, saith the Lord, will I root him up and lay him level with the ground (that is, I will bring shame and distress upon him, and he shall be weak and de-fenceless). All those who rested under his shadow shall depart far from him, lest they should be buried beneath his ruins. That is to say, his fall will be a terrible one; he will lie prone, inert, a useless log, a burden, no longer a support to others. Or even if he should in his lifetime meet with no reverses of fortune, death will surprise him in the midst of all his mighty schemes for self-advancement; he will go down into the grave, leaving all his affairs in such confusion that his heirs and descendants will find themselves involved in ruin. Or it may be that God will take away from him his only son, so that the fruit of his life’s labours and strenuous endeavours will pass into the hands of strangers; or that He will in His Divine Providence permit the man’s vast wealth to be inherited by a prodigal spendthrift, who, finding himself suddenly in possession of riches which it has cost him no trouble to acquire, will only make a jest of the painful toil and labour of a fool who brought about his own eternal condemnation in order to leave his successor rich; and before a third generation comes upon this world’s stage extravagance, debt, shameless prodigality, will have consumed all that the ambitious man left behind him. ‘All the branches of this great tree shall be broken off and scattered abroad through the length and breadth of the valleys; that is, all his lands and estates, which he had gathered together with so much care and labour so as to form one united province, shall be disintegrated and shared by the many, to the amazement of all who, having watched the growth of this great fortune, now see it crumbled into ruins. Is this, they cry, the end of a greatness that was actually formidable in the eyes of the world? Is this the mighty tree whose topmost branches almost reached the clouds? Nothing is now left of it but a useless trunk. Is this the impetuous river which threatened to innundate all the neighbouring country? I see nothing of it now but a little foam, a few empty bubbles, nothing more. Ah! foolish and unwise, at what are you aiming? for whom do you scheme and toil so vainly?

‘* Nay,’? you answer perhaps; ‘‘I am _ neither foolish nor unwise. I know how to profit by the example of others; I shall make a careful note of the weak spot in their life and behaviour, and if I find a tendency to the same in my own, I shall apply the proper remedy.’’ Ah, but this is a mere useless precaution. Did the men whom you are watching profit by the example of those that went before them? You are deceiving yourself; the future holds in its secret keeping too many unlooked-for events, loss and ruin enter by too many cunning loopholes into a man’s tower of strength for him to be able to. guard against them at every point. ** But,’’ you insist, ‘I mean to enjoy the fruits of my labour.’’ And for how long? perhaps for ten remaining years of life? ‘* But I am thinking of my posterity, and of the name which I shall leave behind me.’’ But perhaps your posterity may never come into the enjoyment of all that you intend to leave them? ‘* Perhaps not. But perhaps, also, they may do so.’’ And you are really content to spend your life in so many anxieties, so much toil, and, alas! in the commission of so many sins, without being able to wrest from fortune, to whom you sacrifice everything, more than a miserable perhaps! See! there is nothing secured to you, not even a tomb on which might be graven those proud titles which are the solitary remains of your fallen greatness. The avarice or the negligence of your heirs may possibly refuse even that to your memory, so little will they think of you only a few years after your death. The only thing which is secured to you and of which you may be absolutely certain, is the execution of the penalty due to your sins, the eternal vengeance which awaits the disorders of your life and the strivings of your boundless ambition. Ah, splendid relics of your once-admired greatness! Wonderful results of a fortune which seemed to be crowning you with success! Oh, the folly, the illusions, the strange blindness of the children of men!

I entreat you all who are Christians, whatever else you may be, you who think it possible to find something solid and enduring here on earth; I entreat you to make use of this thought to seek that which alone stands firm as a rock and never fails us. It is true that man should try to settle and strengthen himself, not by confining his efforts within the narrow limits of this present life, but by thinking steadily and boldly of the next, of the eternity which he knows stretches out before him. He must in fact try as far as possible so to labour now that the fruits of that labour may endure for ever. He cannot indeed always live himself on this earth, but he desires that the work of brain and hands, of soul and body, of. intellect and physical powers, should do so; he tries as far as possible to let future ages know his work, which is his fortune. There is in the soul of man an intense, passionate craving for immortality. This, rightly directed, is our salvation. But here is the error: men attach themselves, they cling pertinaciously, to whatever they love most; if they love most the perishable things of earth, they at once invest them with the halo of immortality; they look about for props and supports for this palace of splendour which fortune has built for them, but, alas! the props are just as frail and unsteady as the tottering edifice. Oh, men and women, disabuse yourselves of this error; if you love the unchanging, the enduring, the eternal, seek it in itself, and do not imagine that you can ever impart to the shifting sands and the swiftly

AN A flowing river of this poor earthly life anything of the marvellous immutable perpetuity of eternity. O Eternity, thou art only in God, or rather, thou art God Himself. It is in Thee only that I would seek my support, my security, my fortune, my unchanging rest both in this world and in the next.